


Picture This

by QueenForADay



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Bodyguard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Uses His Words, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Modern Era, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, Musician Jaskier | Dandelion, Neck Kissing, Paparazzi, Social Media, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22565920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: There’s a picture of them.It’s not like this is the first time Geralt has been caught up in a photograph. In pretty much every picture taken of Jaskier by the paparazzi or the media outlets, Geralt is always somewhere in the background. He even has his own following on Instagram, the bastard.  All because one fan of Jaskier’s asked who the hot bodyguard was, and then a hashtag trended and he was fucking asked about it on late night television when he should have been promoting his newest EP but it’s fine—
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 74
Kudos: 1827





	Picture This

This isn’t the _worst_ thing that Jaskier’s name has been attached to. He can think of a handful of scandals that have – in his father’s own words – “made grand attempts at smearing the family name” off of the top of his head. He’ll admit it: some of them were _bad_. But in the last few months, Julian Alfred Pankratz has been on his best behaviour. There hasn’t been as much as a whisper of him on mainstream media news outlets. 

If he’s being completely honest, this, whatever _this_ is, doesn’t even register as an issue.

So there’s this picture. He’s a musician with a band and he’s pretty damn famous. Of course there’s going to be pictures of him. That’s what happens. Mostly, he’s on stage. Sometimes he’s at galas and dinners and meet and greets. On the very rare occasion, a picture of him will surface on social media, taken by someone from a _horrific_ angle, usually at hip level, showing him just at a friend’s party or something like that.

Anyway, there’s a picture. Yennefer of all fucking people told him about it. Well, that’s not true. He woke up to the sound of Geralt’s phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand. The other man picked it up and answered before Jaskier could slap it out of Geralt’s hand or tell him to turn the damn thing off and get back to spooning him.

And that’s when all of _this_ started.

Jaskier throws an arm over his eyes, shielding them from the bright morning light trying to fight its way into the room. He’s no idea what time it is, but it’s too early for any of this. “I still don’t see why you’re worried.”

The space beside him is cold, despite having dragged Geralt’s share of the blankets over to cocoon himself in comforters. With his arm covering his eyes, all Jaskier can do is listen to the sound of bare feet padding quickly around the room.

“Your father pays me to protect you,” Geralt grunts, rooting through the space around him for what Jaskier can only presume to be the rest of his clothes. God only knows where they ended up.

“And you do!” Jaskier moves his arm and peers over at the man. “Really, the way you took that homophobic preacher guy to the ground the other day was truly a work of art. I didn’t even see him coming.”

Geralt makes a sound. “That’s another problem. Your awareness of your surroundings is non-existent. You need to work on that.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “There’s no problem.”

There’s a picture of _them_. He should probably make that clear. It’s not like this is the first time Geralt has been caught up in a photograph. In pretty much every picture taken of Jaskier by the paparazzi or the media outlets, Geralt is always somewhere in the background. He even has his own following on Instagram, the bastard. All because one fan of Jaskier’s asked who the hot bodyguard was, and then a _hashtag_ trended and he was fucking asked about it on _late night television when he should have been promoting his newest EP but it’s fine—_

“Your father is going to have a heart attack.” Geralt sits at the foot of the bed. Pulling on his jeans, he shakes his head. “This might be the thing to kill him, the old bastard.”

Jaskier snorts. “We were just kissing. God, you’re acting like they caught me sucking you off in the back alley of some club.”

Geralt looks over his shoulder. “I’m _his_ employee,” Geralt presses. “I’m _your_ bodyguard.”

And most of the time, that’s all Geralt is. But after the concerts and parties and meetings, when it’s just the two of them, they’re Jaskier and Geralt. Jaskier sits up with a slight huff, a pleasant soreness from last night still buried deep in his muscles. The sheets slip down revealing his bared chest. “I thought we were going to tell him anyway,” Jaskier tilts his head. His fingers fidget with the fabric of the comforter, picking at a couple of stray strands.

Geralt sighs, a heavy and tired sounding thing. “I know.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“Nothing.”

Jaskier snorts. “You can’t just _launch_ yourself out of bed and go stomping around my hotel room over ‘nothing’”.

A quiet moment passes them. Geralt sits motionless at the foot of the bed, head slightly bowed. Jaskier watches him for a second before he makes the decision to join the other man. His skin prickles in gooseflesh as soon as he shuffles out of his cocoon of blankets, despite how high they set the thermostat last night.

Jaskier curls his arms around Geralt’s waist, tugging the man back slightly. It’s a struggle for a minute, with Geralt _insisting_ on brooding and ignoring him. But eventually after another minute – and a well-placed kiss against a certain weak spot on Geralt’s neck – the bodyguard leans back into Jaskier’s hold.

The musician dips his head, nosing along the junction of Geralt’s neck and shoulder. “Don’t be broody,” Jaskier mumbles into skin. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

Geralt tilts his head to the side, allowing more access to his neck. A slow and long sigh leaves him. “It’s just...strange. The loss of privacy. The way we have to be so careful around each other.”

Jaskier hums. They’ve spoken about it before: what they can and can’t do when out in public together. When they’re having lunch together, it has to look like it’s just a musician and his bodyguard. Jaskier has had to catch himself a number of times from reaching over the table and taking Geralt’s hand in his. Or letting his foot drift beneath the table to run along Geralt’s calf. When they walk together, he has to stop his fingers from reaching out to interlink with Geralt’s: even though their hands will often brush when they walk side by side.

Geralt is careful not to leave any marks on him. Well, on anywhere that could be seen by wandering eyes. There was that one time though – a pretty prominent hickey left on his neck. Jaskier was quick to brush off rumours about a secret partner when media news outlets started prying. But he remembers how desperately he wanted to say that it was Geralt – _yes, the attractive bodyguard_. But he stopped himself. He always does. Most of the time, he literally has to bite either his tongue or the inside of his cheek from saying anything.

Jaskier’s hands wander over Geralt’s still bare chest. His shirt from last night is lost to the room. They’ll find it eventually, when they both have to leave. Until then, Jaskier is content with mapping out every patch of skin and muscle of the other man. As if he doesn’t know what he looks and feels like already.

Geralt sighs. “I would have liked to have told him in person. I don’t like the fact that he has to find out about us from a picture published by _The Daily Reporter_ , of all places.”

Jaskier presses a chaste kiss to the man’s temple. “He doesn’t look at the _Daily_. But his assistant does. I’m sure she’s having a heart attack of her own trying to figure out how to tell him.”

Geralt hums.

Jaskier perches his chin on Geralt’s shoulder. “I could call her? The picture was only published an hour ago, according to Yennefer. I could ask dad’s assistant to keep her mouth shut for a second until we call him ourselves?”

Geralt turns his head. Their noses brush, and even now, Jaskier’s chest tightens with how much he feels for the man. Geralt’s eyes are soft, hooded, looking at him for a second. “Do you want to?” he asks quietly. “Tell him?”

Jaskier frowns. “Of course I do,” he replies. “You’re a part of my life now. He should know.”

Geralt nods, but says nothing else.

The call is a pretty one-sided affair. Most of his conversations with his father are like that, to be honest. Though now it’s the other way around; Jaskier does most of the talking, words just flowing out of him with no breath taken in between. It isn’t until a firm hand settles on his back does he remembers that he _does_ actually need to breathe, and he pulls one in.

Geralt doesn’t say much. But that’s normal. The man isn’t that verbal with most things. Jaskier glances over his shoulder, trying to prompt the man to say _something._ But he’s met with wide eyes, just staring down at the phone in his hands. And he’s never seen Geralt look so frightened in his life. Which is an odd thing to see. Geralt Rivia, elite bodyguard, who Jaskier is pretty sure may have actually killed someone in his life before Jaskier, looks frightened.

When Jaskier finishes talking, which seems to be an hour later, but a bedside clock tells him it’s only been a couple of minutes, a deafening silence settles over the room. For a terrifying moment, he thinks that the call might have been dropped. That he’ll have to call his father and do the entire thing again. And if that’s the case, his heart might just give out from the stress of it.

But suddenly there’s a muffled sigh on the other end of the line. “Well, I suppose there are worse things you could have been caught doing,” his father’s dulled voice comes through the phone. It sounds tired. This isn’t the first thing Jaskier has ever had to call him out, starting the call with a _listen, don’t get mad, but—_

Jaskier peers over his shoulder to Geralt, lifting his brow. _See?_

The other man doesn’t look entirely convinced. He looks down at his hands instead, picking at some loose thread on the leg of his jeans.

His father says something else. Something that Jaskier doesn’t quite hear for a moment. Instead, he watches Geralt. Jaskier’s eyes soften. _It’s okay_ , he rests his forehead against the other man’s. Geralt relaxes slightly.

Jaskier takes his father off of speaker. “I’ll talk to you more about it later,” he says into his phone.

His father hums. He’s the one to hang up. Jaskier looks down at his phone long enough for the screen to blink to black. He tosses his phone on to the bed. It buries itself somewhere amongst the sheets and duvet. But Jaskier wraps an arm around Geralt’s bare shoulders, setting his lips against the ridge of Geralt’s jaw. Geralt sighs, melting into the touch.

Jaskier doesn’t have anything to do today. They arrived to the city yesterday evening, and the venue for tomorrow night is still being prepped. Rehearsals will start early tomorrow morning, but with it being the last leg in the tour, Jaskier and the rest of the band know well what they need to do and how to do it. With nothing demanding his attention, he doesn’t feel bad for tugging Geralt down on to the bed with him. The other man grunts, putting an arm out to stop himself from crushing Jaskier beneath him.

“Well, that’s that,” Jaskier smiles.

Geralt looks at him for a second, before leaning forward and kissing his forehead. A small smile tugs at the corner of Jaskier’s lip. Jaskier lifts his chin, catching Geralt’s lips in his own. The arm slung around the bodyguard’s shoulders tightens, pulling him closer until they’re pressed close together.

It’s jarring how well their bodies can slot together. Even after only a handful of months, Geralt’s body can always wrap around his so well it feels like the man had always been there. Geralt moves, sliding into where they were this morning; both on their sides, with Jaskier’s back pressed firmly against Geralt’s chest, with the bodyguard’s arms firmly around him.

Jaskier reaches out as much as he’s able, feeling around for his phone. He finds it buries between some folds of the duvet. Behind him, he feels the other man relax against the bed. Lips settle against the nape of his neck. Jaskier unlocks his phone, opening up his browser and tapping in a website address. He clicks his tongue.

He taps Geralt’s hand, one that has found a resting place over Jaskier’s stomach. “I know that someone from _The Daily Reporter_ took it, and we usually hate them,” Jaskier says slowly, “but I’ll say it: it’s a good photo. I might get it framed.”

There’s a warm puff of air against his nape. “Jaskier.”

“I’m getting it framed. I’ll hang it over the fireplace.”

“Stop.”

“It’s a statement piece,” Jaskier continues, despite the insistent prodding of Geralt’s finger against his side, “I think it’ll really tie my living room together.”

“ _Stop_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Idk how to end things anymore *shrug*
> 
> yourqueenforayear.tumblr.com (personal nonsense) || agoodgoddamnshot.tumblr.com (writing)
> 
> Kudos & Comments gladly appreciated x


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